


a strange discord

by sixteenpsyche



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Anal Sex, Come Eating, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Forced Prostitution, Homophobic Language, Humiliation, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prostitution, Slurs, Xenophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 11:16:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16533557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixteenpsyche/pseuds/sixteenpsyche
Summary: dongyoung is dangerous, but yoonoh never declines a gift.even at his own peril.





	a strange discord

**Author's Note:**

> while most of the tagged content is mentioned only in passing, you should still heed the warnings and proceed with caution.

yoonoh looks at the boy hookers with unconcealed surprise when they enter the room. suzuki had promised him something he would like—those were his exact words, in fact. and yoonoh, as usual, did not refuse the generosity. declining a gift is inexcusable in their world, and what whore was worth the trouble? 

he was already preparing to tell whatever girl was sent over to relax for a few hours. or, maybe, if she had short hair, or an especially bad attitude, or tattoos down her back, he would fuck her ass and think about his handsome neighbor. the one with the pretty wife and a come-on smirk he needed to get fucked off his face. 

more likely, though, yoonoh would leave her alone and work while she watched television.

so, when he sees boys darken his doorway, he is apprehensive. which is not something he can honestly say happens often; as a zainichi chōsen-jin, he has always lived at edges of japanese society, and his fearlessness has served him well. he has seen the depths of depravity men with no self-control, no moral code, and unlimited access to funds, will fall to. being sent male whores should not shock him, but it almost does. it should not make him nervous, but he has to steady his breath. he is not anxious because he thinks these boys pose him any threat; instead, he wonders what else suzuki might have gathered about him without his consent. he has always closely guarded his sexuality, even when it was unecessary. but acute observance is dangerous in even the most benign of men, and it is downright deadly in the hands of your enemy. and suzuki, make no mistake, is both his family and the one man he knows to be afraid of. 

he makes a note to further restrain himself around suzuki, to betray nothing, to not speak unless spoken to.

both boys come in, unbidden, and the door clicks shut behind them. yoonoh does not protest. the taller of the boys has hair that is an expertly maintained shade of medium blond, and is styled off his forehead with the fringe pinned, undoubtedly so it does not fall over his eyes during sex. he is pale, and his face is soft—almost impossibly so for a man—with pillowy lips, darkly striking eyes, and thick, arched brows.

the other boy is slightly shorter, his face is sharper, and his hair is thick, glossy, and deep black. a black-and-marigold patterned scarf is looped around the back of his head and the ends are tied into a bow at the front, holding his parted fringe into place. unlike the first boy, whose face is matte and clearly meticulously contoured, bow boy’s skin is dewy and glowing, his features enhanced rather than forced into shape. a natural beauty. he is making an earnest attempt at smoldering beneath the overly-generous eyeshadow enhancing his already almost uncannily large, almond-shaped eyes. the effect is meant to be coy, and sweet, and sexy, but comes across as mildly threatening. like a lioness, stalking her kill.

yoonoh shifts in his chair.

from his fem appearance, he anticipates bow boy’s voice to be falsetto, or at least sibilant, so he finds himself startled for the second time that evening when the voice that comes out of his  
mouth is pleasantly deep, if artificially sensual.

“my name is dongyoung,” he says slowly, in korean. “this is my friend, jungwoo.” he pauses. yoonoh makes no signal he is listening, but dongyoung continues anyway. “do you like me? or my friend?” he smiles, for the first time, and yoonoh’s cock twitches. such a pretty smile, such a dangerous boy. “or us two together?”

yoonoh considers his options. suzuki sent him two whores, so would it be rude to send one away? or is it a test, perhaps, to see if he is greedy? to see if he takes more than he has earned?

“give me a minute,” he finally responds, tone clipped. dongyoung smiles, placid, and gets to his knees without instruction. he places his folded hands in his own lap, and looks up at yoonoh expectantly. like an obedient sub, a second nature wrought from consistent practice and exposure. 

suddenly, jungwoo approaches yoonoh, without meeting his eyes—the boy has not met his eyes once—and hands him a white card written over with red marker.

_jung-san,_

_i hope you enjoy these onaholes. remember to use a condom; imported boys are less disposable than girls. call me tomorrow before 9AM._

_s._

he reads the card once, then again, before tossing it to the floor. when he looks up, jungwoo is gone, down on his knees next to dongyoung. yoonoh notices that both boys have little golden studs in their noses; jungwoo’s is a soft rose gold, and dongyoung’s is an almost aggressively bright, classic yellow. 

he is incredulous of how he sounds when he says, “open your mouths.”

they do, without hesitation, and yoonoh feels his dick respond in kind. he does not falter. he gets up from the bed, and approaches the seated boys. he sees that dongyoung has another stud, this one pierced into his tongue, but far back, closer to his throat. he wonders what the tip of his cock would feel like sliding against that little metal ball when he throat-fucks the boy. he runs the pad of his forefinger over it.

“close your mouth, dongyoung.” he purposely mispronounces it, because what dignity does a korean boy onahole have left? the least of his worries.

he moves to jungwoo, and his breath hitches in his throat at what he sees. the boy’s tongue is forked at the tip, having been sliced by a surgeon (yoonoh assumes.) it looks like a job well done, not some back-alley deal—not that it matters. jungwoo moves his tongue, silently, so one forked end folds over the other, then back again, criss-crossing. yoonoh represses shudder, arousal mixed with disgust.

“close it.”

he backs away, so he can fully look at both boys. dongyoung’s kimono (if you can call it that) is black and gold, and jungwoo’s is red, and yoonoh doesn't know if that color suits the blond. another thing he does not care about, but observation and collation of all the available data has been hardwired into his brain. their obi are tied in the front—suzuki is clearly a traditionalist—and yoonoh wonders if they are covered in their master’s tattoos under all that silk.

he clears his throat, and switches to addressing them in japanese. “dongyoung, get up. take your kimono off.” his speaks slowly, and dongyoung still seems to understand perfectly. a zainichi like him, then?

(life deals you a hand, and you make the most of it, is what his mother always says. perhaps, had he made a few poorer decisions, he would be on his knees entertaining some self-loathing faggot in an ugly hotel suite, too.)

yoonoh turns his attention, briefly, to jungwoo. “and you, stay on your knees. do not move. do you understand?” the boy looks momentarily out of his depth when he turns his dark eyes to dongyoung, who mumbles to him quickly in korean. then, jungwoo is collected once more, and he nods answering, “i understand, big brother,” in japanese.

yoonoh sits back down on the bed and begins making quick work of his belt and trousers. his eyes are fixed on dongyoung’s graceful disrobing. he notices that the boy’s hands are strong, and more tan than his face, and that his chest and stomach, once revealed, are olive-toned and flat. he looks well taken care of, and perfectly manicured. his nipples and navel are pierced, and when he turns around to display his small, firm ass, yoonoh’s suspicions about the tattoo are confirmed. a full-color, ferocious inugami threatens yoonoh from afar.

“i want to see your . . . friend’s tattoo, too,” yoonoh says, slowly, and dongyoung is speaking rapidly again in korean. jungwoo obeys and begins untying his kimono, but stays on his knees, displaying his exceptional training. he lets the kimono slip off his shoulders and yoonoh walks behind him to examine the art there. another inugami, of course, but this time with a docile expression.

he sucks his teeth and returns to his position in front of them. he sees that jungwoo’s little pink nipples are un-pierced, and he decides in that moment that dongyoung is exactly what he  
needs.

again, he sits on the bed, and his trousers are open, but still pulled up. his belt is in his hand, for a loaded moment, before he drops it. he has never been the physically sadistic type, and even if he was, the conspicuous absence of marking on these boys is a warning: do not damage the goods. his arousal is aching, just this side of uncomfortable, and he doesn't want any foreplay. he pats his lap, and the resultant noise is louder than he expected.

“come here, bitch,” he says, looking at dongyoung, and the boy confidently saunters over, his shoulders broad and beautiful, his waist tiny, his hipbones sharp and hungry—

“tell me what to do, big brother.”

at first, yoonoh mishears him and thinks he said, ‘tell me what you want to do to me, big brother’ and he envisions dongyoung on all fours, being fucked in his ass and mouth at the same time, or maybe with two stiff cocks in the same hole, or maybe suspended by red ropes . . . but then he realizes what was actually said, and his mind slows. he exhales. “i want you to show me what you're good for.”

dongyoung pours himself over yoonoh’s lap like warm honey, and yoonoh wants to touch that marigold scarf in his hair, but he does not want to disturb the little bow. he wants to touch dongyoung’s too-perfect face, but he does not want to disturb his make-up. so, he sits there with his hands on either side of his hips, palms flat against the bed, doing nothing, but having everything done to him.

he realizes how quickly their positions have switched, and he understands the significance of the furious inugami. this isn’t a a helpless, trafficked victim. maybe he once was a scared  
little boy who was snatched from some mall in seoul, or maybe he was poor and whoring himself out to survive, but now he is something else entirely.

_this little whore has dignity, after all._

“dongyoung - am i saying it right?” his mouth feels like it is moving too slowly as he watches dongyoung pepper his torso with kisses.

“yes, big brother.” his smirk vanishes almost as soon as it appeared, but yoonoh doesn’t miss it, and the implication makes his ears burn. he isn’t ashamed of his heritage, but he won’t be condescended to by one of his own. 

still, he does his best not to react. “call me oppa,” yoonoh’s voice is terse, tense, and he doesn’t understand why he is having such a difficult time relaxing.

(the boy is a predator, a carnivore, a raptor—)

dongyoung’s long fingers brush over the front of his boxers, and the boy looks up at him and smiles. “okay, oppa. may i suck your cock now?”

yoonoh nods, dumb. dongyoung giggles, and it’s fake, but it still drives yoonoh crazy. before dongyoung takes yoonoh into his mouth he looks up and wrinkles his nose, smiling, he chirps “please do whatever you want to your onahole.”

yoonoh wonders what it would take to get an authentic reaction from him, rather than this infuriating aegyo. maybe next time. 

for now, he fully enjoys the experience dongyoung is giving him, like he promised he would. the head is respectable, but if you have gotten your cock sucked by one expensive prostitute, you have pretty much experienced them all, even if this one has a gimmicky tongue stud. but the way dongyoung’s mouth looks stretched around his cock, the way his dark, lacquered eyelashes look when he closes his eyes, the way just the slightest bit of saliva pools out of the corner of his mouth; the sight of it is better than anything yoonoh has experienced in a long time. he is drunk on this perfect boy in front of him. his beauty and something else about him, some unnameable thing, is intoxicating. 

“stop, stop,” he grits out after nearly ten minutes of licking and sucking and bobbing and gagging, and all noise ceases immediately. dongyoung doesn’t even wipe his sloppy, swollen mouth when he pulls off and meets yoonoh's gaze.

yoonoh’s balls ache.

“i want your cunt.”

dongyoung actually shrugs. “yes, oppa.”

yoonoh’s heart is beating in his ears at the flippancy of the gesture, the answer. before he can control himself, his hands are on dongyoung’s shoulders, pushing him to the mattress and flipping him over. automatically, the boy cants his hips up, and yoonoh wonders how he failed to notice the black-jeweled anal plug until now. he removes it unceremoniously, and dongyoung makes an authentic noise of distress.

“shut up, onahole.”

another authentic noise, this time of arousal. yoonoh feels sweat form at his hairline as he sets a brutal pace fingering the boy, eyes fixed on the fearsome face of the inugami staring up at him. being inside dongyoung feels like being inside a temple, but yoonoh does not believe in any god.

he slaps the boy’s ass, hard.

soon, there is too much lube on his cock and all around dongyoung’s hole, and the slide is too easy so he pulls out and slams back in again, until dongyoung really screams, and then yoonoh is shivering from the sickness of it. he says things he does not mean, because he feels challenged by this pretty thing that was supposed to be his gift, threatened, and he wants to fuck that feeling into submission. he snarls, “i’m going to destroy your pussy,” and dongyoung does not miss a beat in response.

“yes, oppa. just be ready to explain yourself to suzuki-sama. i’m his most expensive toy, and he wouldn’t like having to replace me because some ill-trained dog doesn’t know well enough to not break his playthings.”

he talks far too much for someone who is allegedly getting his pussy destroyed. 

yoonoh can feel the blush heating his face, and he spares a glance at jungwoo, hoping the flush simply looks like exertion. the humiliation of it all is making his knees tremble and threaten to lock. he strikes back, “don’t kid yourself. even if i slit your throat and threw you down the trash chute, the most i’d get is a slap on the wrist. the police wouldn’t even file a report.”

dongyoung laughs in response. “zanichi gangsters are so predictable. you all only pretend to like your jobs because it’s the only job you can get in this country. pathetic.”

yoonoh slaps him, hard, so hard dongyoung stops moving for a moment. he recovers, quickly, and begins circling his hips once more, but he says nothing, and yoonoh feels ashamed that he is letting what some nobody slut says affect him at all.

he switches positions so he is seated and the boy is in his lap, chest to chest, bouncing on his leaking erection. yoonoh moves his hand to wrap around dongyoung’s throat, but the defiant glare that elicits makes him think better of it. besides, that would be an unnecessary distraction—dongyoung’s pretty face is fascinating to watch on its own. he is vamping one second, and rolling his eyes in delirious pleasure the next.

“are you high?” yoonoh asks, finally, voice breathy and awed.

dongyoung’s smile is so, so beautiful, and far too innocent for him. “no, oppa, i just love big dick. i love it when men show me how much they like me by fucking me unconscious. wanna do that?”

yoonoh’s cheeks burn. he hates that dongyoung is trying to get a rise out of him, and it’s working. “shut up. stop talking.”

“what's wrong, you don’t think you can do that? that you can fuck me until i pass out, then come on my unconscious face?”

yoonoh gasps, and shakes his head, refusing to engage with him, to admit how sexy he finds this filthy, mouthy, miserable little whore. dongyoung is bearing down on his cock and slamming his hips forward repeatedly, battering his prostate with yoonoh’s cock. it makes the gangster’s thigh muscles spasm, and a quiet voice berates him for being such a lousy lay when he comes, prematurely.

after it happens, dongyoung stills, surprised. he seems like he is not sure what to say but he tries, all the venom drained from his voice. “thank you, oppa. do you want me to leave?”

yoonoh is confused by the suddenness of the question. his head is swimming, and he feels humiliated. he feels like there should be more to it than this. he is pissed, at no one in particular. at suzuki, maybe. definitely not at dongyoung—at least not as much as he should be. he pulls out of the boy and carefully rolls the condom off.

dongyoung gets to his knees on the bed, and yoonoh hands it to him. “feed this to your friend over there," he instructs, boredly, regaining control of his tone.

dongyoung obeys immediately, a good, quiet submissive again. the corners of yoonoh’s mouth tilt upward when he notices a very slight limp in dongyoung’s step when the boy moves toward his colleague.

jungwoo opens his mouth and dongyoung turns the condom inside out and dumps the contents on his forked tongue.

yoonoh lays back on the bed and closes his eyes. “leave, now.”

they do, quickly and quietly. but just before the door clicks closed once more, he hears dongyoung’s voice, sickly sweet and calm, “sleep well, jung-ssi. see you soon.”

yoonoh sleeps with the lights on.

**Author's Note:**

> : )


End file.
